Froi of the Exiles

He nodded, unaware of what was brewing, and Tippideaux dragged him away.

Froi grabbed Quintana’s hand and then they were running for the fletcher’s cottage.

‘Can we trust this man?’ Froi asked Olivier.

‘Just trust that he will do anything to protect the Princess and the babe,’ Olivier said as they entered the house.

‘This way,’ they heard someone say.

Froi followed the voice down into the cellar, his hand never letting go of Quintana’s. An oil lamp was lit and he saw the fletcher and his wife standing before them.

‘Quick. Help me with this,’ the fletcher said.

It took the weight of Olivier, Froi and the fletcher combined to push aside the stone, revealing a tunnel that would lead to the hills just outside the province to the north.

‘It will take you no longer than a day,’ the man said. ‘I’ll travel behind you soon to replace the stones.’

Olivier handed over a purse of coins.

‘Paladozza must not fall,’ Olivier said firmly.

The fletcher’s wife took the purse of coins from her husband.

‘Can I see?’ she asked, reaching out a hand to Quintana. Froi froze. Don’t touch her, he prayed. The last thing they needed was Quintana’s savage strangeness frightening those who were here to help. But Quintana took the woman’s hand and pressed it against her belly and the woman wept. In return, she placed the purse of coins inside Quintana’s hands.

‘Keep them,’ the fletcher’s wife said. ‘They will come to good use. You can return the favour when you’re settled in the palace with the heir.’

‘We need to go,’ Olivier said.

‘Weapons?’ the man asked.

‘I have a sword and two daggers,’ Froi said.

‘We’re wasting time,’ Olivier hissed, pulling Froi and Quintana away.

‘Here,’ the man said giving Froi and Olivier a bow each and a quiver of arrows. ‘Protect her with your life, lads.’

Chapter 40

Beatriss travelled through the Flatlands with Tarah and Samuel to see how her villagers were faring. They were scattered across the kingdom, some as far away as the rock village, quarrying stone, or the river villages, gutting fish. Most expressed sadness when they heard she would be moving into the palace with Vestie. ‘Always thought we’d be able to return to you,’ they said. ‘We may have work here, but we don’t have a home, Lady Beatriss.’

As they passed the road that led to the village of Fenton she saw a crowd. The Queen’s Guard was there as well and amongst them Trevanion sat astride his horse. Beatriss remembered Isaboe’s words the day the Queen visited and they had travelled back to the palace together. That she was not to expect Trevanion to reveal his feelings of the past. ‘They’re not like us women, Beatriss. For all their strength and might, any talk of the past pains them and if you’re waiting for him to speak words you want to hear, then make the decision to live without him now. For you may never hear them.’

‘What do you think is happening there?’ she asked Samuel.

‘Why, the palace is auctioning the village, Lady Beatriss,’ Samuel said gently. ‘Did you not know? The surviving Fenton villagers will all receive ten pieces of gold to resettle elsewhere or stay if they wish. The Queen says it’s what Lord Selric would have wanted.’

‘The Queen and Finnikin mentioned as such. What are the villagers saying?’

Tarah made a rude sound. ‘Those of Lord Freychinet’s village are saying they wished he was dead in a ditch someplace in Charyn and they had ten a piece.’

‘Doubt anyone will stay in Fenton, though,’ Samuel said. ‘Not if Lord Nettice buys.’

Beatriss shuddered at the thought.

‘Let’s stop awhile,’ she said quietly. ‘I see dear friends.’

She approached Abian and August, who kept their distance from the other Lords and Ladies. Abian hugged her tightly.

‘Sad day,’ August said. ‘If they waited until spring I’d have the money from the crop. Selric would have hated any of that lot getting hold of his land and people.’

Beatriss knew from Abian that August felt he had let his neighbour down. She squeezed his arm. ‘You’ve taken on more of his villagers than you can afford to, August. He would have been grateful.’

They watched Lord Nettice and his cronies, who were laughing amongst themselves. Already they were thumping Nettice’s back with congratulations, as though he already owned Fenton.

‘What I don’t understand is where he got his gold from,’ Lady Abian said, bitterness in her voice.

‘He made his money shamelessly under the impostor King’s rule,’ Beatriss said quietly.

Her eyes met Genova’s. She was huddled with her husband Makli and the survivors of Fenton. As was the case with Sennington, the village of Fenton once boasted sixty-four people and were now down to twenty-eight, most had died in the Charyn plague. What was ten pieces of gold worth to them when they were still grieving the loss of neighbours?

A moment later Trevanion approached and dismounted. Beatriss felt her face warming up under the intensity of his stare.

‘Honestly Trevanion, can’t you arrest them for their smugness?’ August said.

Abian’s fury could hardly be contained. ‘If any of their wives come near me to boast the purchase you’re going to have to bail me out of the palace dungeon tonight, Augie, because I don’t know what I’ll do to them.’

Trevanion laughed. He looked at Beatriss. ‘Would you like me to arrest Lord Nettice for purely existing, Beatriss?’

Beatriss’s stomach churned at the mention of his name. She was unable to join in the jest and all too soon Trevanion’s smile was gone and he was off to oversee the growing crowd.

It was all a farce really. The poor Fenton lot had pooled together their promised amount deciding that perhaps they would try to buy it together, but Lord Nettice doubled the amount the moment it began and it was humiliating to watch. Humiliating. Beatriss stared at the man, the word thundering inside her head. Humiliating. Humiliating. Her anger grew. She felt its rage, but there was no longer shame in it.

What had her fellow Lumaterans said about her during those early years of the impostor King’s cruel reign? That she gave them courage. That each time his men ruined her land, Beatriss the Bold refused to stop planting.

‘Four hundred pieces of gold,’ she shouted. It was what the Priestking had promised her for Sennington.

There was a stunned silence around her. August and Abian stared at her as if she had lost her senses. It wasn’t that they doubted she had money, but to buy a village? Beatriss looked across at where Lord Nettice stood with his wife alongside Lord Freychinet and their acquaintances.

‘Five hundred,’ Lord Nettice said and her heart dropped.

Every person standing on the field stared back at her, but Beatriss knew she could not match the price. The auctioneer waited.

‘Five hundred and ten, Lady Beatriss?’ the auctioneer called out, searching for her through the crowd. ‘Perhaps another go?’

‘End this,’ Lord Nettice shouted at the man, but the auctioneer refused to be rushed.

Suddenly Makli and Genova were there beside Beatriss, as were the rest of the Fenton villagers.

‘End this,’ they heard Lord Nettice shout again.

‘Lady Beatriss,’ the auctioneer called out, his voice anxious. ‘Another bid, perhaps.’

‘We have two hundred and eighty coins between us,’ Genova said. ‘Use it, Lady Beatriss. Use it all. If he wins the bid, Fenton is lost to us. The pride of Lord Selric and his beloved girls are lost to us.’

Beatriss caught Makli’s eye and she saw sorrow there and before she could stop herself, she pushed through